Good Woman Down
by SOULQUEEN
Summary: She is the mother of one of the most crucial characters in the Harry Potter series. What has what she's done to her son ruined him completely?


"**Good Woman Down" by Anastasia Koroleva**

PART 1

A ragged looking young lady went up the stairs of her house. An old stair at the top creaked as she stepped on to it, and the baby woke. She didn't care; she hadn't cared for it for quite some time now. She opened the door to her room and climbed into bed, trying her hardest to block out the baby crying in the room adjacent to hers. But the house was old; the walls were thin. She could hear the cries as clear as thunder on a quiet night and each time the baby wailed, it pierced her heart like a knife, flooding her mind with memories. She knew she'd have to do something. Taking out her wand, she climbed out of bed angrily. It had been a long day and she needed sleep.

The woman didn't bother walking quietly along the creaking floor. She stomped moodily into the baby's room, which she'd been reluctant to give to the baby in the first place, but her husband made her promise; she had to do it. Pointing her wand at the crib, she repeated the spell that she used countless times before.

"_Silencio!_" she muttered, and the baby's screeching cries died down, however she could still see him opening his mouth in agony, wanting nothing more than the love of the family he was born into.

The woman crept back into her room. All was silent; it was perfect. Finally she could get some sleep, and not have to worry about that drat of a baby. She didn't even remember the last time she'd fed him, but didn't care. All would wait until morning.

When she woke up, she found the baby crying again. Irritated, she jumped out of bed, not even thinking about what she was going to do next. It had been instinct; it'd been that way for a while now. She stormed into the baby's room.

"Shut up! Shut up!" she yelled. "Just shut the bloody hell up!"

The wailing became louder than ever and she raised her hand, imitating what she'd been doing since the baby was given back to her. She slapped him hard, over the cheek. She knew it was not going to work, because it never worked before. The crying became louder and louder. The woman was getting a headache. The bloody headache she had every morning, thanks to this stinking baby.

Some of her friends told her that holding a baby and waiting until it fell asleep in your arms was the 'motherly' thing to do. They'd usually said that when they saw her parenting habits. But she didn't care. To hold him, would mean she had to love him, and she just could not do that. She could not love something so ugly, so horrifying. But deep inside, she knew that the real reason she was the way she was towards her only son was because she could never love someone who reminded her so much of... him.

Every time she looked into the baby's jet black eyes, she tried her hardest to follow her motherly instinct and love him, and hug him, and coo him to sleep. But those eyes were way too familiar to her. Her past seemed to fly its' way throughout her mind just at the sight of the baby. He was a living reminder of the hell she had lived through with her husband. She could never love him, not when he was so much like his father, growing to be more like him every day. Every single day, a little feature would pop up, or a habit she had gotten so used to seeing on her husband. Her eyes swelled up with tears every time, and today was not any different. Repeating the spell from last night, she silenced the baby and slamming the door to his room, ran down the stairs into the kitchen.

_I'm going to make breakfast now. Yes, breakfast. Just like every day, when me and him ate. Just like he's still here_, she thought to herself and took out some eggs to fry.

Just then, the ringing of a doorbell made her jump about a mile. Cautiously, she tiptoed towards the window where she'd be able to see who was at the door, undetected by the visitor.

_Dumbledore_, she frowned, clearly disgusted by the sight of this man. But she knew she had to open the door.

"Ahh! Meredith, my dear," said Dumbledore, smiling widely at Meredith, however, awkwardly as she opened the door. "How good it is to see you..."

"Dumbledore," she replied icily, pursing her lips afterwards.

He seemed to notice this less than welcoming greeting, for the smile vanished from his face. He let himself in without saying another word and sat down on a chair in the kitchen, opposite the counter where the eggs waiting to be cooked, remained.

"Eggs Benedict, Meredith?" Dumbledore inquired, a grave look now upon his face. "And I thought you would have changed," he muttered to himself.

"Yes, eggs Benedict. And Edgar will be joining me shortly, after I just-"

"Edgar? He is not coming, Meredith."

"He is! I know he is!" she bellowed, tears ready to flow from her eyes. "He has to come for him!"

She was now pointing at the baby with one arm, and the other was clutching her chest, as though in pain. She shot the crib in which the baby lay a revolted look.

"Meredith..." said Dumbledore gently. "Edgar is not coming. He has not been coming for a while... A year it's been now, hasn't it?"

She didn't reply. She knew he wasn't going to come. Not today, not any other day. In fact she knew full well that he hasn't moved all last year.

His death was hard for Meredith, but she thought it would have been easier. Watching her own family die, at the hands of Voldemort, she thought it really made her a stronger person. But she couldn't have been more wrong. Her mother hated her, and so did her father. She had no reason to grieve their death, therefore she didn't become strengthened in spirits after Voldemort took them. Edgar's death had been the hardest for Meredith, for he had been the only person in the entire world who ever cared for her, appreciated her, _loved_ her...

PART 2

Meredith was a Muggle-born girl, but she considered being a witch the best thing that ever happened to her. She remembered getting on the Hogwarts Express when she was eleven years old, and she remembered how happy she'd been. She remembered sitting alone in her compartment, telling herself she'd make friends when she got to the castle... surely not everyone knew each other already?

A group of first year boys had stumbled into her compartment, laughing. The most handsome of them turned and noticed Meredith sitting there. She tried her hardest to smile. After all, if she was going to ever make friends, why not start now? But she felt insecure; she knew she wasn't pretty, not like all the other girls anyway. She knew her black hair did nothing to compliment her fair skin, and to say that her face didn't resemble symmetry would even be an understatement. She hated everything - her thin lips, her eyes that were located way too close to each other, her large front teeth...

"Bloody Merlin, look where we have stumbled off to!" the handsome boy exclaimed, looking disgusted at the ugly girl sitting alone in the compartment.

Meredith winced, but did not dare to move or say anything.

"A Mudblood, aren't you?" the boy continued, sneering. "Oh, we saw your pathetic parents all right."

"Most of them filth are usually happy to send the Mudbloods off, though. Yours didn't even seem to bloody care," added another boy.

Meredith fought to choke back the tears that stung at the back of her eyes. She didn't know what a Mudblood was, but had a strange suspicion that it wasn't anything good when the boy called her parents filth. She looked at the ground and remained silent. The handsome boy made a face of deepest loathing, but did not move.

"Come on Tom, leave this wretched dim-witted Mudblood for now," said the other boy, and their friends nodded in agreement. "Lots more fun around the train, I heard."

"Can't believe they're letting dirt like this into Hogwarts. What have they sunk to!" said Tom miserably, giving Meredith a look that much suggested he'd rip her head off if he could. What had she done wrong?

But before she had anytime to ponder over this, another handsome boy appeared behind Tom. He looked like he was too young to be in his first year, so Meredith assumed he was older than them.

"Riddle, leave her alone," said the boy angrily. "Don't you have some other people to torment? Girls to bewitch?"

"Don't you call me by my bloody last name again!" retorted Tom, suddenly seeming insulted.

"Oh, what're you, _ashamed_?" snickered the boy.

"Waters, I'd suggest you get out of here now," said Tom Riddle, now seeming very dangerous.

"I'd suggest quite the opposite, seeing as I'm older. You don't want to pick fights with me, Riddle."

Tom glared at the boy for a few moments before stalking of and muttering insults angrily.

"Hi," said the boy, turning to Meredith.

She was caught quite off guard because the boy seemed to not want to bully her, to her relief. When she didn't say anything, seeing as she was dumbfounded someone was actually talking nicely to her, the boy continued.

"I'm Edgar. Edgar Waters," he smiled at her and she smiled weakly back. She shook Edgar's hand. "I see you've had the pleasure of meeting Tom Riddle there. Quite the stories I've heard about him."

"I'm Meredith," she answered, knowing full well he didn't even ask for her name. Without waiting for a response, she went on. "Stories?"

"Yeah. I wouldn't listen to a word he says, if I were you. Would cripple your spirits in minutes, if he had the chance."

"Oh," replied Meredith, feeling suddenly grateful. "Thank you."

"It's no problem," said Edgar grinning. "Just find me if he causes you any more trouble."

And with that, he disappeared out of the compartment, leaving her alone to finally feel the full impact of what she'd just witnessed. Being alone once again did nothing to up her spirits about school. She knew she'd love being a witch, but she wanted friends. She had never had friends before. She suddenly remembered Edgar's parting words, and wondered if she'd seem desperate if she talked to him when they arrived at the castle. Meredith found herself imagining possibilities - the way they'd be the best of friends, the way he'd ask her out, the way they'd fall in love... But she just needed it to be a two way street when it came to falling in love with him, because ever since that day on the Hogwarts Express, she had already been as deep in love with him as possible for a girl of eleven years old.

Slowly, they had fallen in love. Or, Meredith had fallen even more in love with him, and was never really sure whether he loved her back. But she had always assumed he did, just because they were so close. Meredith never let her thoughts stray from him; he was always in her mind and she was always speculating what he could have been doing at the moment. She soon started envisaging their future together at any moment she could find. She didn't stop for a moment to think how foolish she was becoming, how unrealistic it was that she fall in love with this older, more mature boy.

But she never gave up on him. People started to murmur and grimace when they saw the two of them conversing. They never understood what he saw in the hideous and seemingly antisocial girl, and many of his closest friends publicly scolded him for befriending such a person. But he never gave in to their criticism and Meredith loved him for his determination to get them to at least tolerate, let alone accept her. She secretly knew that they shared a sacred bond, a connection that made them feel each other's emotions without words, and this was what had made them so close – Edgar always seemed to know that she never meant anybody any harm. All she wanted was somebody to love.

Be that as it may, nobody was surprised when Edgar asked Meredith to marry her shortly after she graduated from Hogwarts and he had finished Auror training. Nobody was surprised; but many were disgusted. Meredith exuded as much Magical talent as a Squib, and Edgar had graduated at the top of his class and was now certified to work as an Auror for the Ministry. One could hardly imagine a more peculiar couple. However, Edgar accepted his offered post at the Ministry; he and Meredith moved into a nice house in Nottingham and, to some people's surprise, they were quickly welcomed into the Wizarding community as a newly established couple that had a lot going for them.

They were your typical case of a Muggle-born married to a pureblood wizard – a little awkward at first, yet more accepted over time. They lived during a generation where mixes in marriage, such as theirs, was a trend that people were becoming more and more accustomed to. People said that since this was becoming more and more popular among people, there was no need to oppose it. People would just have to acknowledge that they could not control who falls in love with who; they could not control the next generation of children that was coming. And some really didn't seem to care – their argument was that just because someone was a half-blood didn't make it fair to doubt their Magical ability. After all, there had been many successful wizards who were Muggle-borns, so why should being a half-blood make the person prone to being frowned upon? It just wasn't fair. But, as with most new propositions and movements, this one had its' share of hostile onlookers. Many people thought mixes were destroying the traditional Wizarding family, breaking the customs and moral that so many pureblood wizard apparently worked hard to institute. But since none of the opposition actually worked to enforce their beliefs, their views were mostly passed by, and not given much of a chance to be defended. As time proved it, that had been for the better.

Meredith and Edgar's marriage seemed almost cruelly perfect from the outside – he was always seen coming home with flowers, she was always seen planting him a kiss on the cheek before he was to depart for work. All in all, it seemed nothing was going to come in between them. Alas, those people had been wrong; Meredith grew to take her newfound happy state of living for granted. She thought she could make her husband do anything for her – he had always been so keen on helping her with anything she needed. But she started abusing her privilege, and began demanding impossible tasks of Edgar – making insane amounts of money, hosting parties every weekend (she was very fond of the fact that making friends now came so easily to her; almost too fond), cooking gourmet meals… except for breakfast. Nobody was sure why, but she had always insisted that she be the one cooking breakfast.

All the while, Edgar was facing trouble at work. There had been a new murderer creeping around, naming himself Lord Voldemort. Nobody knew why he called himself 'Lord' but didn't think much for his campaign at the time. After all, how bad could he get? People always thought, 'Well, just one more murder and he'll be done, right? It'll never happen to me. It'll never affect me,' and they couldn't have been more wrong. Voldemort's newly instated rule had affected everyone in some way; and Meredith was not an exception.

Shortly after the conception of their baby, Edgar and Meredith faced even more problems within their marriage: they had each become abusive towards one another, channeling their anger towards their own troubles into attacks on each other. But Meredith never stopped loving him – he was still, and always would be, the only person who ever valued her, understood her. How could she stop loving such a person? Well, she never did. And when Edgar took his chances in taking down Voldemort, and didn't succeed, she still loved him; no matter how much she felt like she despised him for being idiotic enough to attempt it.

She hadn't even had a chance to talk to him again – he had been hit with an Avada Kedavra and was killed instantly.

Meredith soon became known as a lost cause. Her friends tried to talk some sense into her, and tried to help her care for her baby, but she rejected their assistance. She thought she didn't need anybody. But her baby was too much for her to handle on her own, and she soon gave him to her old friend from Hogwarts, Constance.

But Meredith was out of luck; there seemed to be no way to get rid of the baby – Constance died at the hands of Voldemort a mere month after the baby was given to her. So, Meredith faced the injustice of life and started raising the baby on her own. If you could call the way she parented, 'raising'.

PART 3

"Meredith, you have to treat that baby justly!"

Dumbledore's voice was thundering, making the daylight seem dark.

"I treat him bloody fine," replied Meredith through gritted teeth.

_What is this old idiot thinking? It is up to me how to treat my child. My child._

"My Child! He's mine, you can't tell me-"

"You can not abuse him!"

"I do n-"

"Meredith!"

Dumbledore's eyes were widening with every word and Meredith felt scared – if there was anybody capable of changing her views, it was him. But she didn't want her views changed; as far as she concerned, her baby was just fine the way he was. She remained quiet and glared at Dumbledore.

"Meredith," he repeated, now a little more gently, and sighed. "Do you have any idea what human kinship is?"

She glowered at his disbelieving facial features. He was now looking at her as if she was not human herself at all. She nodded her head, choosing to maintain the icy atmosphere between them.

_And he has the nerve to talk to me about human kinship. Sodding human kinship. _

"I sure hope you do," sighed Dumbledore once again. "I do realize that how you raise this child is up to you; and I certainly know you won't be making his childhood a pleasant one, seeing as for the past year you have, knowingly and _shamelessly_, mistreated him. But do you really want to make him miserable? Just as miserable as you yourself had been as a child?"

Meredith looked at him, unsure of what her expression resembled; she had a strange suspicion it looked rather like incredulity. And for good reason – this bastard was crossing the bloody line. She had never thought of it that way, and now that she considered this, she felt horrible. She had had a dreadful childhood when she was neglected, abused, and left overall terrified of the life to come. _Did_ she really want something like that for her baby? No… no, he was right. The sodding bastard was right. She had spent a year evading motherly responsibilities, not even thinking of the consequences her child would have to deal with when he was grown up. How could she have been so foolish? Meredith glanced back to the crib with newfound empathy before turning to Dumbledore.

"You- you're right…"

He looked skeptical for a minute, probably because of her sudden submission to his demands, but closed his eyes with relief as he noticed the sincerity in her voice. Meredith felt her lip tremble – she had been so wrapped up in her own misery, she didn't even consider that her baby needed her love, not her abuse. As she realized that she was becoming more like her own parents every day, Meredith was disgusted at herself.

"Will you treat him better?" asked Dumbledore after a moment of silence.

"I… I'll try to," she managed.

Dumbledore gave her a grave look.

"Seeing your lack of comprehension, I must say it again. _Will_ you treat your baby properly? Like a _mother_ should?"

"Don't you question my parenting abilities!" Meredith snapped at him angrily. "I will treat him the way I see fit."

Noticing the rapid return to her previous state of spitefulness towards her child, Dumbledore shook his head and stood up.

"Then there is not much more I can do, and if I try I now see that that would be a waste of my precious time. Which I do not happen to have a lot of at the moment, by the way."

He walked swiftly to the door, leaving Meredith scowling at his retreating back. He turned to her once more before walking out of the front door.

"My prayers are with the poor soul that God has entrusted you with. I hope he did not make a wrong choice."

And with that, he was off. Meredith let the tears that had been stinging at the back of her eyes, flow freely. She was bewildered by the full effect of the conversation. It was so unfair, life, everything; it was unfair that she could possibly be this confused about what she had to do. She had to start being a better mother and she knew it. But why couldn't she do it, _why_? What _was_ that feeling deep in the pit of her stomach that stopped her from taking him into her arms every time she was tempted to feel like a better person? Meredith wanted so much to fulfill her duties as a mother, she wanted to be friendly, to be happy; to move on. But why was it so hard? Dealing with death had never been this hard for her… not even her parents' death. Well, that wasn't much of a surprise. But she had never imagined she could ever feel this much hurt at the hands of another person's doing; and if you look at the way she had been treated her whole life, that's saying something.

Wiping her eyes and throwing the crib a cold look, Meredith snatched the box of eggs from the counter and hurled it at the wall opposite her. The baby started crying as if by instinct the moment the box made contact with the wall and she frowned.

_Fck. Not again!_

Meredith needed an outlet for her anger, and lately there's been only one solution to that. Raising her wand, she walked closer to the baby's crib and silenced him once again. She had to turn away from him, so as to not completely disgust herself at the sight of the baby trying to scream out in agony.

Meredith stayed true to her word to try and act civil towards her son, and this was so for about a year before she cracked again. It was just too hard… holding him, acting like a mother towards him; it all just felt so wrong. So bloody wrong.

So she went back to her old ways and retreated to abusing him, silencing him every time he cried. It was just so much easier to not deal with her own emotional problems and breakdowns. It was so much easier to take it all out on him.

_He's just a baby, isn't he?_ Meredith told herself. _It's not like it will affect him later, will it? No, it won't matter…_

But her mistreating of him did affect him; the baby's first words didn't come until he was three years old. He didn't start walking until that age either. But emotion… he had always found ways to show his emotions, the pain from her growing abuse – whether it was a Silencing Charm, a smack on the cheek, being whipped with a belt… it all hurt the same. He didn't understand why she was the way she was. Why did she hate him so? She had never even acted like a mother towards him. He watched his friends being dropped off at primary school by their parents, and he felt the unfamiliar longing for a normal family; for a father to protect him from her.

He soon began to feel spite for his mother. How dare she treat him as if he's a dirt bag that was left on her doorstep as a baby?! She was his mother, for Pete's sake! Weren't mothers supposed to love their children? He didn't understand what he had done to earn the horrid lifestyle that Meredith had tyrannized him into – she still Silenced him without warning, not letting him express his opinion on anything. Her excuse had always been that he is too young to understand her ways and that she knows better; but that is not always the case as this type of trauma generally results in the child becoming unusually wise. And indeed the case was so.

Overtime, the abuse grew stronger. She whipped him, hit him, and verbally abused him. He couldn't have imagined a worse life to lead. Fortunately, though, life seemed to empathize with him; one fateful morning, a letter came for him, telling him he was going to go to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, if his place was accepted.

He had been on cloud nine that morning.

"Mama, I'm going to Hogwarts!" he exclaimed happily as he brandished the letter in front of Meredith's face and spun around on his feet. To his surprise, he saw look up from the vegetables she was cutting and her smile weakly.

The boy stopped spinning and stood for a moment, regaining balance. Then, he looked at his mother with an unsure expression. He was happy; she was not angry. Usually, for those two to occur within the same time vicinity of each other, the world would have had to been turned into complete havoc.

"Mama, you're happy that I'm going?"  
"I am," she said, the iciness returning to her face and sounding stern once again. "Now eat your pancake."

"Why are you happy, though? You're not usually happy…"

"Your pancake will get cold."

"But mama... you were _smiling_," replied the boy uncertainly, ignoring his mother's request for him to eat his breakfast.

"Your pancake, you idiot!" Meredith finally spat.

The boy looked dejectedly at his plate, savouring the five seconds of happiness he had the pleasure of enduring; it was rare for him.

The fact was Meredith had never been even close to happy around him. All she ever did was mutter about the injustice of life, how she wished she were someone else. But the book shook the thoughts from his mind – soon enough, he was going to go to Hogwarts! Finally, after years of waiting, he would get away from this desolate place. Suddenly, a thought struck him.

"Mama, when are we going to get my books? And my robes, my quills?"

Meredith's head jerked up in surprise from the sauce she was now stirring. But the next second, she was staring hard at the food, clearly concentrated on not pursuing this subject any further.

"How about my wand? Oh, I'm going to have a wand!"

The boy was now squealing with excitement, and Meredith found herself working to restrain herself from hitting him hard.

"We are not going. I will buy the minimum required amount from second-hand stores a week before you are to go."

The final tone in her voice made the boy understand that her word was final. He looked gloomily at his soggy pancake, wondering whether he'd ever be able to get proper education without the suitable materials.

Indeed, the supplies that Meredith chose to buy barely scratched the standard level – the quills were old and it was very hard to write with them; the parchment was weak and a whole could be poked through it without even trying hard; his wand was the only thing that he was proud of. It was his father's wand, or so Meredith told him. The thing that frustrated the boy was not the fact that his supplies were wrecked. No, it was the fact that they weren't even poor! The boy knew that his mother had a lot of money at her disposition, and he knew this for a fact because she had never kept it from him. So why hadn't she bought him nice things, like all the other mothers would have? Why had she _chosen_ to do this? It was all very puzzling for the boy, but he didn't ponder on it. He had learned to just accept things in life as they were and not fight for his rights – that would most certainly cause a falling out between his mother and himself and that was the last thing he needed at that point in time. Or so he thought.

But the boy was very smart for someone his age; he knew he'd have to do something on his own if he was to be able to succeed in school, so he started forming a plan - a plan to get proper school supplies. One would think this a pretty mediocre goal that is too easy to achieve, but for someone like him, he would have to work extra hard to make sure he succeeded. Going to Hogwarts was his one chance to learn to accomplish anything in life, and he was going to make sure that it would be taken properly.

He had done it. It was perfect. Sprinting along the bustling London street, the boy couldn't help but feel proud of himself. It felt so good, just being out of that house, away from her taunting… he suddenly saw himself living a proper life without that horrid woman on his case everywhere he went. And the idea of that life seemed very appealing to him.

Getting out of the house and getting money had been easy. He knew that his mother kept extra gold in the jar behind her lamp in her room; and he knew that she would be out for most of the day. She was usually out on Saturdays (little did she know, so was he). So, after making sure she was out, and after grabbing all the gold he could, he had tiptoed out of the house, making sure the door didn't slam behind him. He wasn't sure why he was being so cautious – he _had_ snuck out like this tons of times – but it just felt better to be on the safe side. Traveling to the Diagon Alley had been even easier; the Knight Bus came almost immediately after he set out of the house.

He then took the familiar route to Diagon Alley through the Leaky Cauldron, and soon enough, he felt the heavenly aura of a happy place hit him... It hadn't been long since he was here last, but every time he came here on a fine Saturday afternoon, he felt a certain sense of independence. It felt so good.

He decided to get himself some robes (as that would definitely be necessary), new quills, and an item of luxury he knew he'd later regret buying – a beautiful barn owl. Fortunately, he was spared the hunting down of his school books; his mother had actually been nice enough to get them for him. He felt so accomplished at the end of the day, especially after getting an ice cream and paying a visit to Ollivander's where the shop owner indulged him with a long talk on where his father's wand had come from.

"Quite a fascinating wand you've got there, m'boy… oh yes. How fascinating," Ollivander said suddenly.

The boy looked up at the old man, frowning.

"But else what could possibly be so interesting about this old wand?"

"Wha… what could be _more_ interesting?!" Ollivander almost looked insulted. "Do you have any idea where this wand came from, boy?"

"Err, my father…?" replied the boy, raising an eyebrow.

"Ahh… and he was?"

"Edgar Waters," said the boy, more confidently. Talking about his father always made him feel proud.

The storekeeper closed his eyes and nodded in apprehension.

"Oh, I remember selling this wand," he said and opened his eyes, giving the boy a grave look. "I remember every wand I've ever sold…"

The boy was feeling impatient. When was this old bloke going to be finished. He seemed queer enough to have just lost his marbles completely anyway, so there was probably nothing else special about his old wand, other than the fact that it came from his father, a very powerful wizard. Or so he'd been told.

"Do you know what magical pieces have been rooted in your wand?"

The boy shook his head.

"This wand is special; made of seven Unicorn hairs and seven drops of Phoenix blood-" sighed Ollivander but was prevented from continuing but a sudden jerking upwards of a head.

"Huh?"

"So you see the significance now, do you?" he added, grinning wickedly.

What could this possibly mean?

_But-_

_No way_…

Seven – the most powerful magical number. His wand was exactly seven inches long – not particularly long for a wand, and the boy had never thought much of this until the storekeeper told him about this rather intriguing piece of information. So, his wand also contained seven Unicorn hairs and seven drops of Phoenix blood. It seemed like a rather evil combination; and the fact that it contained seven drops of _actual _Phoenix blood was especially disturbing and was enough to make the boy's stomach lurch. It could hardly be considered a good thing that he owned a wand that had in it the blood of such an innocent and pure creature as a Phoenix… The boy had a sudden urge to just throw it out, but knew he shouldn't make anything of it. This feeling of uneasiness would pass.

He was creeping up to the house from behind when he heard it – the loudest screech he had ever heard escape his mother's mouth.

"Oh, I will catch him, I will beat him, I will-"

"Calm down, I'm sure he's somewhere near. He probably just went for a little walk," he could hear their Muggle neighbour, Ingrid Evans consoling his mother.

Feeling himself stiffen up, the boy looked down at the numerous bags he was carrying. Why the hell was his mother home early? It was only about 4 o'clock, and she never came back until at least 8. He felt a ominous feeling brew inside his stomach and crawl its' way menacingly into his mind, leaving him unable to move or do anything – he did not want to face what he knew was surely coming when he would walk through the front door. But he knew that there was nothing he could do to control the fury of his mother; she always overreacted to little things (especially around him) and never gave him a chance to explain himself.

"HOW DARE YOU?! Why, you ungrateful, horrid, brat!"

She was now guiding him forcefully into the house, Ingrid looking back at them apologetically, though she seemed more alarmed now than she'd ever been.

"Sneaking out of the house like that! Oh, I'll show you! You'll never disobey me again, you worthless trash!"

"Mama-"

"Don't you 'mama' me, you big idiot!" grunted Meredith as she shoved him into the house.

The boy staggered a little as he dropped his bags, not really knowing what to do. He knew that a single movement would most probably land him a punch, at the very least. She had the tendency to blow up whenever he did something wrong. He had a strange suspicion other mothers did not to that; he never even saw Ingrid _punish_ her daughter Lily, let alone hit her. He glanced at his mother who was staring at his with such a glare, it almost looked like she wished her fierce look would pierce him.

Suddenly, Meredith spun around, taking her ferocious glare off of the boy. He could not see her expression, but if he could, he would find her staring hard at the ground, her mouth twisted in such odd angles one could consider she was trying to make an angry face. She walked slowly to the dresser in the entrance to the house and opened it. The boy knew what was coming and knew he had to get away. He made to run quickly, but Meredith had been faster.

"_Petrificus Totalus!_"

And he could move no more.

After taking out a whip from the dresser, she moved slowly towards him.

"What are those?" she said, pointing at the bags he had dropped on his way in.

The boy looked hesitant to answer for a moment.

"They're- they're… my purchases."

"Oh?" Meredith raised an eyebrow, and then closed her eyes, apprehension dawning on her. "So everything I bought for you wasn't good enough, huh?"

"No, it's just some extra-"

"_Extra_? Extra stuff?" she scoffed and looked disgustedly out the window. "I let you live in my house… I feed you… I keep you clothed. And how do you repay me?"

Silence.

"You steal my money… you sneak out against my wishes."

The boy knew that Meredith was trying not to look pleased with herself; after years of tormenting him, she had finally mastered the art of remorse.

"How many times… how many times did I tell you-"

"Mama…" the boy pleaded.

"-not to ever disobey me!"

"No, no, pl-"

"_Don't_," she cut in sharply. "interrupt me. Talking doesn't seem to teach you now, does it?"

The boy could feel his insides burning up, yet he could not move his body. With one swift motion, she took the petrifying spell off of him. One would think the boy would have made for the staircase, or the door, and would run away from Meredith, on whom a merciless expression was now pasted. The boy fought back tears and gazed helplessly at the floor as she turned him around and whipped him hard.

"Now-"

She was making sure to hurt him as much as she possibly could, not really sure why she was doing it. It just felt so much better to hit him, to make him learn…

"You will never-"

The boy didn't emit a single sound. He knew that's what she wanted; he wasn't going to do it.

"Break _my_ rules again!"

And she whipped him harder than ever.

The boy looked uncertainly at the red train in front of him, though he was not sure why. This was what he always wanted… he would finally get away from there. At least for a year anyway. He'd deal with the summer later. But he was going to start a new life here, a happy life. The thought made his stomach lurch with joy. He didn't even sleep the night before, because the amount of time he spent contemplating all the amazing things Hogwarts could possibly have took up a lot of his sleep time. He did not mind, however; he was sure that Hogwarts would be the best thing that ever happened to him in his life. He was glad his mother wasn't there – she went back to her house after she roughly pushed him through the barrier.

One thing was still bugging him though: how would he make friends? Years of agony caused by his mother did nothing for his social skills whatsoever. Was he supposed to just come up to people and introduce himself? Or was he supposed to act cool and wait for people to come up to him? He was now walking absentmindedly towards the train, all the while questioning himself on how he was possibly going to meet decent people. At this moment, he felt his face hit something hard. He almost fell to the ground but quickly regained control of his scrawny body and wobbled on the ground as the face now staring accusingly at him became clearer.

"Hey! Watch where you're going, you!" he said and looked at his intruder with furrowed brows.

This was the first time the boy had had any interaction with another human being his age, except that Lily Evans from across the street, and seeing as he was still in the process of figuring out how we was going to befriend other, he started rambling.

"Oh, I'm sorry- I'm so.. I didn't mean to-" but a voice cut him off.

"Who exactly are you?" another boy with ruffled brown hair said as he eyed him suspiciously.

"Oh! Oh- well… I'm Peter. Peter Pettigrew."

The three other boys frowned at each other and the boy with the ruffled hair slowly nodded his head.


End file.
